Eternity of Gallop
by Iris Musicia
Summary: AU Kurtty.  While doing a class project on highwaymen for History, Kurt finds out that there's more to Kitty than meets the eye.
1. Kythera Wylde

_**Ok, so, this is just a little scrap of stuff I wrote after watching Sleepy Hollow and coming back from my first hunt on Apple (PS, it was AMAZING we went so fast!), so I'm on a horse high. People who don't like horses/riding/foxhunting and seeing Kurt and Kitty riding and/or in very horsey places, turn back now, for this is the epitome of horsey Kurtty. Don't flame me about "too many horses" because you were warned.**_

**January 2, 1560**

The air was stiff and brittle and as filled with frost as the road beneath her feet was. The only sounds were the pounding of hooves, the jingling of harness, and the snorting of the horse. Her breath was whipped away behind her in a steamy cloud as she flew along the frozen road, iron shoes gouging ghostly tracks. This was real freedom.

From the black trees overhead, the moon struck down, silver and black in the cold night, and no living thing was out. She leaned into the corner as it appeared and vanished behind her, as everything else did when she was free. No destination in mind, she kept going.

The night is a pure and sacred thing, and as the sun rises, something inside, called a dream, dies. Her time of freedom was dead, there was no more fun, now, the fierce freedom like she could fly was gone, and now she was stuck, lost, sickly, and illegal.

oXo

**January 2, present day**

"Kurt Wagner! What can you tell me about the Elizabethan Era?" The teacher snapped, and Kurt was jolted out of his dream. He blinked groggily and lifted his head off the desk.

"Ah, well, uh, zere vere highvaymen?" he said, confused. _How did we go from the Romans to the Elizabethans?_ _Was I really asleep that long?_ He wondered and shook his head, grateful the teacher had moved on.

"Yes, there were highwaymen. The Elizabethan Era is when the highwayman, and the lesser known but more common footpad became usual. Now, can anybody give me an _example_ of a highwayman?" The teacher lectured. Nobody raised their hand, so she looked around for her next victim. "Ah, Kitty Pryde, how about you?"

Kurt turned in his seat to see Kitty's reaction. Kitty was the new girl who had come here a few days ago and had History, the current class, with Kurt. She was quiet and dark and had this aura about her that she knew more than she said—a lot more.

"Kythera Wylde." Kitty said quietly.

"Not quite. Can anybody give me an example of a _real_ highwayman, and no fables like Kythera Wylde, please." The teacher looked around the room, but when Kitty raised her hand, the teacher looked surprised. She had no choice but to call on her.

"Yes, Kitty?"

"Kythera Wylde isn't a fable."

"I'm sorry, Kitty, but there is no evidence of Kythera ever living other than a sketch of a female highwayman on her horse and a short piece of text. Scientists in England have traced the genealogy many times and there is no evidence of Kythera's death, no remains, proving she did not exist. I believe there was a National Geographic special on it, once." The teacher said in a tone that obviously suggested she thought Kitty was slow.

"How did I get here if she's a fable? She's my grandmother—with, like, eighteen greats." Kitty said, her voice rising. She fished through her binder and pulled out a scan of an old painting. She shoved it towards the teacher, who took it and looked very closely at it and back at Kitty.

"That's very nice, Kitty. You could probably mail this to National Geographic, but we can't waste time on this. Now, back to highwaymen. The answer I was looking for was Dick Turpin. Can anybody tell me what Dick Turpin is famous for?"

The teacher's voice faded to a drone as he lost interest, putting his chin back down on his desk. Then he looked over at Kitty and saw that she looked just as dark and brooding as always, not even slightly discouraged from the teacher putting her down. She may have felt that way on the inside, but she didn't show it. Kitty Pryde was not one to wear her heart on her sleeve.

After class, Kurt followed Kitty to her locker.

"Hey, you okay? Miz Klopp can be harsh." He asked. Kitty slammed her locker shut and walked off.

"I'm fine." She muttered.

"Uh, whoa, wait!" Kurt stumbled through the crowd after Kitty. "Do you have a partner, you know, for ze highvayman project?"

"No." Kitty answered shortly.

"Vould you like to work viz me?" Kurt asked, jogging to keep up with Kitty.

"Sure, whatever." She said, almost coldly.

"So vat are you doing afterschool today?"

"Riding." Kitty said. "I'm free on Sunday, if you're wondering." Kurt had tripped when Kitty said riding, and looked like he was about to ask something.

"No, -wait, that's great, but, um, vere do you ride?" Kurt asked, slightly flustered.

"The Dillon's place." Kitty said.

"Oh! Really? I ride zere too!" Kurt said, his face lighting up with a smile.

"Interesting." Kitty said in a tone that clearly indicated she was not interested.

"And I'm going out to ze barn today too, so I guess I'll see you—" Kurt stopped talking. Kitty had disappeared. "—zere?"

**January 2, 1560**

She shivered as she realized that there was no way to figure out where she was. All the trees were the same, the road was stretching unyielding in both directions to eternity. The horse pricked its ears and snorted nervously at something she couldn't hear. Then the sound reached her ears: the rumble of wheels on the road.

There would be her ticket home. They could give her directions. But then she realized: she was a young _woman_ riding _astride_ a horse, a _stallion_, her _husband's_ horse, in the dead of night in full hunting harness and a nightdress with her hair loose around her shoulders. They'd take her on the spot and carry her away. Take her to a sanitarium and tell her husband and she'd be the disgrace of the town. Unless they couldn't take her . . .

Her answer was clear: the cavalry sword and long-handled hatchet attached to the saddle were her security, and the viciousness of the stallion. She drew her sword as the carriage approached.

Her voice rang off the trees and her sword pointed straight and true at the driver.

"_Stand and deliver."_

_**Should I continue?**_

_**Oh, and yes, I know that Kythera is an island somewhere. Trust me, I did my fair share of Googling.  
**_


	2. Anevern

_**Whossa, mein Freunden! Ohh, where to start? I've had a VERY hectic schedule filled with lots of hunting (where I got Eternity of Gallop), and school! That's right, yours truly is a freshman at Loudoun Valley HS, and a proud Viking! Seeing as I don't have computer access during the week, I can only type on the weekends, so my updates will be slow and far apart. Many apologies for that, but without further ado, the story!**_

**January 2, present day**

After a long bus ride, Kurt was relieved to get to the barn, and checked to see Kitty was still around, and she sat quietly at the very back of the bus, standing and breaking her silence to say "thanks" to the driver and hop off the bus. Kurt started to head up to the barn, and when he realized Kitty had, yet again, disappeared, he sighed in exasperation and continued, figuring she'd turn up sooner or later.

He was quick to fetch Soup of the Day, his hunting pony, from the field, and he spent a longer time than normal grooming Soup, until the manure stains had been mostly brushed out of his white body and the brambles combed out of his black mane and tail. Soup was a very un-soupy, very striking pony, compact, and everybody called him the "army horse" because he was so solid and had a very high, measured step, but Kurt liked him.

After Soup was tacked, Kurt retreated to the bench in front of the tack room to put on his half chaps and helmet. He looked around quickly, and down the aisle of the barn, and upon seeing no Kitty, thought it was safe to turn his inducer off. His normal appearance didn't scare the horses—in fact, they seemed to like him _better_ in his furry blue form. The kids at the barn knew about it, and they joked about clipping him like the ponies in the fall. And under his tweeds, he kinda wished they did.

Once his chaps and hat were in place, he went around and re-greeted Soup, who nuzzled his chest affectionately, and snorted, covering Kurt's sleeve in snot.

"Brilliant, Soup," Kurt muttered, playfully pushing the young gelding's head away. He led the pony around to the mounting block and was about to get on when he heard a gasp.

Kitty had materialized in the entrance to the aisle of the barn and was standing frozen with the reins of a huge dapple grey horse in her hand.

**January 5, 1560**

She'd been on the run for days. Not exactly running, but trying to evade civilization. The first night she'd tried to rob a coach using a sword, but the driver had laughed and trotted past. The second night, she'd charged a coach and held the hatchet against the driver's throat. That worked better. He'd given her bread and directions and a flask of wine, but now her stomach growled in hunger and the directions proved to be poppycock. The third night, she'd found no coaches on the road, but already there was a poster warning of a highwayman prowling the roads. Her. Nobody had given a name to the bobbies yet. They all knew it was her, though. Her husband was probably paying to keep them quiet.

This was only the beginning now.

**January 2, present day**

The color drained from Kitty's face as she stared, mouth open, at Kurt. Then, without warning, she fell to the ground, fainted. Kurt jumped off the mounting block, hoping Soup would stand as he rushed over to Kitty. He was two feet away from her when the horse she had been holding stepped over her carefully and butted Kurt away with its huge head, pinning its ears and snorting. He held up his hands and backed up, away from the horse, whose ears gradually came forward as he got farther away.

On the ground, Kitty woke up quickly, and pulled herself up using her stirrup, careful not to spook the horse.

"Who . . . what?" Kitty stuttered, holding herself up using locks of her horse's dark mane. Kurt shuffled his feet, nervously twisting Soup's reins.

"Uh, vell . . . I'm Kurt, ze guy you came here viz. I look like zis, but I hide it under an image inducer for school. It's not a secret here at ze barn," Kurt said, looking from his feet to Kitty, who was still looking at him funny, holding her horse's mane, but less tightly now.

"Oh, I see, you're a _mutant_," she sneered.

"Hey, I've not done anyzing to you, now have I? So vy should you be all snobby to me? If _you_ vere I mutant I vouldn't care! So you freak out even zough ze horses- who are better judges of character- don't even blink? You should be listening to zem." Kurt said, patting Soup's neck and getting back up on the mounting block to get on Soup. Kitty stood still, her sneer still in place, but her eyes stared into space, growing gradually wider, as if she was watching something in her mind's eye.

"Yes, you're right. I'm sorry," she said, her eyes still far away, then she blinked and snapped out of it. Quickly, she mounted up and guided her horse around to the back of the barn.

"You're not going to ze ring?" Kurt questioned, following her.

"No, I prefer to ride in the fields," she said in a rather closed voice.

"Vat's vrong?" Kurt asked.

"Nothing. It's just like talking to a different person now that you look like . . ." Kitty trailed off, not even turning around to look at him.

"O-okay zen. May I ask vy you have such a huge horse?"

"This was my h—father's horse," Kitty hiccupped, and covered her mouth. "But he moved away and couldn't care for him any more, so I got him. Anevern's a brilliant boy." She said, leaning down and affectionately stroked the horse's thick, arched neck.

"Is he, like, on steroids or somezing?" Kurt half laughed at his own question.

"No, I don't know if he was gelded late or what, but he just turned out big, even for a part draft. He's pretty strong willed, so I use this curb bit on him. Oh, and he likes to kick and strike." Kitty said, and Kurt veered Soup farther away.

**January 10, 1560**

This had gone on long enough. Now it wasn't just a game. It was her _life._ She was getting very sick, coughing fits racking her frail body, and she was spitting up blood now. However, when she robbed, which she had done increasingly frequently, she had new life. But she couldn't deny it. Something was very wrong. She hadn't gotten off her horse yet. That would spell death for her, but with the pain she was in, she was considering it.

She was too weak to think about what had happened in the last five days. There had been two fatalities already- her sword had slipped and plunged into the driver's chest on one robbery. The other one happened when the stallion took a liking to the mare pulling a dog cart and he had gone after her, but in her wild frenzy to get away, she had kicked her driver off the cart and the stallion had accidentally trampled him.

Accidents, but fatalities nonetheless. This had turned into a manhunt for her, especially since she had robbed over £400, a small fortune. As she spasmed in a fit of coughing so hard she thought she would vomit, she was almost sure nobody knew it was her.

Yes, she was weak, but the adrenaline of the robbery would lend her strength. She loved the robbing. It freed her as the midnight gallops used to before she turned away from the life of a nobleman's wife. And to keep robbing, she sold her soul to the Devil.

She didn't hear the sound of barefooted hoofbeats, but when the stallion pinned his ears and struck out, she sat up and grabbed the reins as she spat blood onto the roadside, a drip coming out the corner of her mouth.

A man on a flighty horse galloped down an adjoining road at the crossroads she was approaching. He shouted when he saw her, and brandished his pistol in her direction. All of a sudden, there was a loud, sharp noise, unlike she'd ever heard before, and she had the distinct sensation of falling, then adrenaline flooded her body, overcoming her illness. She jerked and freed her feet from the stirrups, but fell heavily on the dead stallion. She rose and sprinted down the road, weaving through the trees, fear fueling her speed. She turned and glanced over her shoulder, and the man on his horse was driving hard on her heels.

That glance cost her. She ran dead on into an embankment and went flipping violently down twenty feet of rocky dirt, cuts burning all over her body. As she hit the bottom, against a boulder on her back, white-hot pain speared through her whole body and she shrieked, then her waist down went numb. The horse scrambled down the embankment and stopped in front of her. The man sneered down at her, drawing a ceremonial sword years out of date.

"_A taste of your own medicine_." He growled, driving the sword into her chest.

**January 2, present day**

Kitty and Kurt's ride was quick and uneventful, though they did find residual snow in the woods. The ground was too hard to do anything really, but in the back field, they cantered a little, but found it was _way_ too cold to have the wind blowing in their faces like that.

When they returned to the barn, Kurt grinned as he saw Kitty's bright red face.

"You got vindburn," he smiled.

"And don't you have any?" she asked rather indignantly, standing on tiptoe to run her stirrups up.

"Fur, darling, stops vind better zan any nylon," Kurt laughed, spinning around and taking Soup to be untacked. It turned out that though she was quiet and rather moody, Kitty wasn't hard to talk to once you found common ground with her, which was [obviously] horses.

A few minutes later, their horses turned out, Kurt and Kitty met in front of the barn, then walked up to the house to warm up while they waited for their rides.

"So vere do you live?" Kurt asked conversationally.

"Oh, out in the country."

"But vhere?"

"Dunno, kinda close to school, I guess," Kitty shrugged and changed the subject. "Hot chocolate?"

"Sure," Kurt muttered, put off by Kitty's deliberate vague answers and subject change. They walked into the Dillon's house (the Dillons welcomed all their riders into their house) and Kurt sat down in the dining room, chin in hands, and Kitty came out of the kitchen a few moments later with two mugs of hot chocolate. He cocked an eyebrow at the speed she had them ready.

"Mrs. Dillon left some mugs with the mix and a pot of hot milk on the stove," she explained, blowing across the top of her mug. Kurt nodded and went straight into drinking his. They drank in easy silence for a few minutes before they heard the sound of tires crunching on gravel and a navy blue station wagon drove down the driveway to the barn.

"Zere's my ride. I guess I'll see you tomorrow?" Kurt stood up.

"Yeah. See you later," Kitty called as Kurt put his mug in the sink and ran out to the car.

After checking to see the Wagner's car had disappeared around the turn in the road, Kitty left the house and ran down to the barn, slipping into Anevern's stall and jumping into the bed of straw she had in one corner, pulling the heavy fleece and down blanket over her. Anevern shuffled over and lay in front of her, and just like that, Kitty fell asleep.

_**Was this okay? I know the 1560 storyline is moving faster, but the present day thread will catch up pretty quickly. And if you're wondering, Kitty kinda lives in Anevern's stall with him. At the barn, one night, we all slept in the stalls with our ponies and Apple (bless her) actually did come over and play personal heater for me, though it was the middle of July and I wished she would go lay on the other side of the stall. I'm pretty sure I got heat stroke that night. Though it is really cute, she thought she was helping. Aww. :)**_


	3. Kitty's Flight

_**NOTE: Please reread chapter 2 (or at least the middle - end of it) because I have revamped and rewritten to suit the plot and what comes next, so if you go straight into this chapter without rereading the new stuff, you'll be lost. **_

_**Hey y'all! I'm back! This update is hastened by FrankandJoe3, so I guess this is kinda dedicated to you. However, thank you for everybody who reviewed and showed support and interest in this story. **_

_**And though this is slightly depressing (I'm more sensitive to sadness now that I'm uber-happy all the time) I am very happy, and highly recommend listening to "Disco Pogo" by Die Atzen Frauenartz feat. Manny Marc. Yeah, it's German, but it's the best techno/pop to ever grace my iPod. 5 stars, totally. I've rambled enough, so here's the story. **_

**January 10, 1560**

She choked. It didn't hurt much. The man pulled his sword free of her broken body and sneered down at her before turning, scrambling up the embankment and galloping down the road, the horse's hoofbeats ringing frantic. She struggled for a moment before she gave up and went limp, then coughed up blood.

Blackness crept in at the edges of her vision, and she let it take her into its soft, easy arms, like falling asleep . . .

**January 3, present day**

The next day, Kurt was happy to see Kitty in the halls, going to History.

"Hey, Keety!" Kurt called over the sea of heads. Kitty turned slightly but kept walking. He weaved through the crowd to catch up with her. "Hey. Ready to work on ze project today?" he asked brightly.

"I guess." Kitty muttered in a monotone, keeping her gaze straight ahead.

"O-kay zen," Kurt mumbled and fell silent, his posture displaying a little defeat. When they reached the classroom and Kitty dropped into her dark chair in the corner of the room, Kurt dropped his stuff into the chair next to her. She raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, class, get together with your partner for the Highwayman Research project." Mrs. Klopp clapped her hands and waited for the commotion of students moving around to die down. "I picked some books out of the library to get you all started. You have the whole class period, so don't waste it. You should finish researching today."

The class broke out into chatter and a few people moved to get books.

"So who are ve going to research?" Kurt asked, turning in his seat so he was sitting sideways facing Kitty.

"Kythera Wylde." She said softly, and her eyes took on the distant look they had at the barn yesterday.

"But Miz Klopp said she vas a fable," Kurt said, slightly concerned. The way Kitty was acting was kind of weird, almost stupid.

"She's not." Kitty murmured, staring straight ahead.

"Ja, she is, Keety. She never existed, just a legend made up by some crazy Eenglish ladies because zey vere tired of ze men getting all ze fame and fortune. Can you hear me? SHE VAS A FABLE." Kurt repeated, waving his hand in front of Kitty's face. She shook her head, but kept staring.

"She's a lie," Kurt said, and that seemed to set Kitty off. She stood up suddenly and grabbed the hem of her shirt, but froze, with her mouth open like she was about to say something sharply in retaliation. The whole class was staring at her. Kitty collected herself quickly and swept an icy gaze over the class and sat down.

"_Don't ever say that about—her._" She hissed, her voice catching before "her" like she would say something else. "All the women in my family are descended from Kythera, and we're very proud of it. Everything from our hair to our eyes to the way we walk—right from Kythera, and every horse we have has to be a dark half draft named Anevern. She's _in_ us, Kurt, _we are her_."

Kurt fell silent.

"So, you two, who are you researching for your project?" Mrs. Klopp had walked up to them. They both looked up nervously and pulled away—their foreheads had almost been touching they were leaning so far to hear each other's whispers.

"Uh, vell, ve vere zinking of doing Dick Turpin, but I zink Bobby and Laura are doing him, so ve vere just trying to zink . . ." Kurt filled in quickly.

"In that case, go get a book and start looking! There's no shortage of highwaymen." Mrs. Klopp said, as if she couldn't believe the two hadn't resorted to a book yet. Kitty nodded stiffly and stood, pushing past Mrs. Klopp in a way that screamed "Move, bee-otch."

"Kitty! Get back here!" Mrs. Klopp said. Kitty ignored her. The teacher marched up to Kitty, but with the noise of the class, Kurt couldn't hear what was said, but it looked like a heated exchange—well, at least on Mrs. Klopp's side it was. Kitty stood sullenly, even carelessly with her hand on her hip and one foot cocked, like a horse would stand when he's too bored to care.

A few moments later, Kitty came back over to the desk, bent down and fished her agenda out of her backpack.

"Yellowbelly's sending me to the dean," Kitty muttered, traipsing back up to Mrs. Klopp with her open agenda, then slamming the door on the way out. Kurt sat for a moment and wondered: what sort of person used the word "yellowbelly" anymore? His thoughts were interrupted by Mrs. Klopp standing over him.

"What are you waiting for? Go get a book!" she snapped, and Kurt rushed to grab a book and get out of her way.

~*X*~

On the bus out to the barn, Kitty sat at the back quietly as usual, and disappeared to get Anevern as Kurt went out and caught Soup, but this time, he didn't have to worry about Kitty fainting. She reappeared quickly with Anevern, or so Kurt assumed, because he was bent over the tricky zipper on his left chap. Kitty cleared her throat and Kurt looked up. What he saw made his tail go stiff in shock.

**[Prepare for lots of words you probably won't understand]**

Though Anevern was normally an impressive sight, Kitty had tacked him in full hunting harness, with an etched triple breastplate, martingale, way reins, and a crupper strap, as well as an old English riding saddle with a high cantle and pommel. The horse had a double bridle on his head and was holding it perfectly, the snaffle rein taut and the curb rein relaxed in Kitty's adept hands. She herself was wearing a man's outfit with jodhpurs, a shirt that resembled an Oxford, with a breast double and a neat jacket (almost identical to Kurt's hunting jacket) with a high, stiff collar and a flowing cloak embroidered flawlessly and draped perfectly over Anevern's rump. She had gleaming knee-high cavalry boots on, feet resting in the heavy, ornate stirrups.

**(That's the sight I want to be one day, and sorry, it's an odd sort of thing to want [well, not for a barn rat], but seeing Kitty decked out in Elizabethan foxhunting gear on her gorgeous horse would make me stare shamelessly, then faint in utter amazement, then worship her. Again, foxhunting barn rat talking, so excuse my shameless worshipping of this icon of hunting)**

"Oh," was all Kurt could whisper. He walked slowly up to Anevern, running his hand down the tight, neat, perfect braids of his long mane, and looking up at Kitty, with her hair flawlessly styled in a twist under a gleaming top hat. Walking behind Anevern at a safe distance, Kurt observed the tight, perfectly spaced braids in the horse's tail that indicated _years_ of practice.

"It's nice, right?" Kitty smiled. She had even done her makeup with dark, expressive eyes and ruby red lips with a pale complexion. "This is an approximation of what Kythera Wylde would have looked like, out on her horse, robbing. Though historians say that she probably wouldn't have been this well groomed and done up with her clothes and makeup, I like to think this is how she looked as she raised her sword and said her line—_stand and deliver_!"

Kitty released a long sword from a scabbard hanging on her hip on the other side that Kurt couldn't see, and finally he noticed the roll of fabric tied behind the saddle, the horn tied to the cantle, and the hatchet sheathed next to the horn, and he assumed the sword and the whip would be on the other side. Kurt jumped, though, as Kitty lowered the point level with his throat.

"Don't worry, it's fake. Feel," Kitty said, pulling the sword back up to her level and bending it into a U shape. "Rubber. Looks real, eh?" she smiled again.

"Wow," Kurt breathed. "How long did this take you?"

"All night. I spent _forever _adjusting 'Vern's tack so it would fit, I think he fell asleep at some point!" Kitty laughed, straightening her hat. "And I had to dig through my trunk to find this, and some of it came from the Dillons' house—this is your hunting jacket." Kitty fingered the sleeve.

"Fits you really well!" Kurt smiled. He stopped smiling suddenly, realization dawning on him. "Vait—you said he fell asleep, and you borrowed ze Dillons' jacket? And your trunk . . . in ze back tack room? Keety, did you spend ze night here?"

"Well, I—yeah." Her voice became a monotone and her dark, brooding manner descended on her, her eyes becoming shadowed and her expression stony. "I'm going to ride."

She doubled Anevern using the snaffle, but Kurt could tell she wanted to snatch him with the curb—take her anger out, but manhandling Anevern would do no good and anger, possibly injure him; so with her hands shaking in anger and an effort of control, she trotted out of the yard, and Kurt heard the distinct sound of a canter, then a jump. _A jump?_ Kurt ran around to where Kitty and Anevern had disappeared, and he saw them flying down the long yearlings' paddock, closing in on the fence into the woods, they leaped it and disappeared.

The look of open-mouthed shock stayed on Kurt's face though sadness and anger boiled under the surface. _What did I say to make her so angry? Did I do something wrong? Why did she go through the trouble of dressing up like that? Where's she going? _Turbulent thoughts streamed and jostled through Kurt's head, none of them with answers.

Finally, he stopped staring down the paddock and turned, slowly walking to Soup, standing obediently with his ears pricked. Kurt rubbed the gelding behind the ears absentmindedly, and when Soup rubbed his head up Kurt's chest, he murmured,

"All right, all right," and put his bridle on. He went down to the ring, and though it was dangerous and stupid (to a degree) to ride alone in the ring, it was more dangerous and stupider to ride alone on a trail, and with Kitty playing Mad Horsewoman and hopping any fences she felt like, Kurt was willing to bet she'd jumped the barbed wire on the edge of the Dillon's property, too.

Grinding his teeth at his own stupidity, Kurt turned Soup and left the ring, going into the geldings' field, a faster way to get where he was going. Soup's energetic trot quickly became a zealous canter, and Kurt was searching for a way to a) slow down the horse or b) jump the fence. Item A was looking better but harder, and as the fence drew nearer and the gate farther away, Item B seemed to be the only option.

Kurt squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth, then his eyes flew open as he realized he was asking for death by closing his eyes. He released one hand from the reins and smacked Soup solidly on the rump and sailed over the coop built into the fence like a cowboy, one hand in the air and one hand on the reins and not even out of the saddle [1].

**January 10, 1560**

The man who had slain the highwaywoman came galloping victoriously into town, Dawsonbrooke, holding the blood-stained sword aloft victoriously, his steed foaming and wild-eyed. He screamed a wild war cry and all the men came out and cheered him on as he made his victorious ride up the High Street to the Lord's manor.

The gates were open, and the man came blazing through, reining his horse in just before the doors and leaping down, dropping the reins and ascended the steps, head bowed, and the sword offered like a sacrifice before the cold and impassive Lord standing at the top of the steps.

"_As you requested, the Lady Kythera Wylde has been slain, Lord Wylde."_

_**Ooh, yes, I did that. A kinda-cliffie, and a very ominous and disturbing ending—the husband had the wife killed? And that wife is our highwaywoman Kythera? Ach, yes, I'm a genius! So enough gloating . . . I want to hear what you think, so bitte review!**_

_**[1] This is what little Nancy did on a hunt on Labor Day- it was about seven in the morning, and first flight is lining up to jump this big coop downhill and I see little Nancy on her old pony Looky go charging up to the jump, crop waving, and the silhouette I see is Looky tucked up, soaring over the coop, Nancy leaning back for the landing, one hand in the air, like a cowboy on a bronc, the other holding the reins up high like a dressage master. I'll have that image burned into my skull the rest of my life. Aah, that was a great hunt . . . **_


	4. From the Roadside Grave

_**Hi . . . I have nothing better to do, though it 11 pm on a school night and I don't feel like sleeping, so I guess I figured I'd start writing the fourth chapter. Mind you, I'll probably fall asleep a few sentences in, so the rest of this will most likely be written tomorrow, so there might be differences in the writing. That's what happens most of the time, and nobody's commented on it so far, but whatever. I'm just wasting time rambling in the author's note so that I won't have to engage my brain and work on plot. *yawn!* You know what, actually, I think I'll just go to sleep now. Cheerio, readers, see you in the am with the actual story!**_

_**Okay, I'm in a good meh mood today, so let's see how this turns out. I'm starting a new thread, so now we have a 1560 thread, and a present day thread that's split into the Kurt thread and the Kitty thread. 3 threads total! Hope you're not too confused and your brain isn't clouded with images of JoAnne's Fabric store as mine is . . .**_

**January 4, present day: Kurt**

Soup sailed over the fence and broke into a flat-out gallop that Kurt quickly reined in. The stone and barbed wire fence that marked the edge of the Dillons' property was about a hundred feet ahead. Kurt trotted up to it, then along its length. Towards the middle of the section in the woods, he found a deep imprint in the snow of huge hooves. The takeoff.

**January 5, present day: Kitty**

Mindlessly going. That's all it was. There was no thought to direction in her mind, food and water never entered her stream of consciousness. She was like a possessed woman, running on dark energy. Anevern ran under her, never relenting. As they had cleared the property and kept going, the minutes and hours flying by under their feet, Anevern's coat had darkened. No longer was he a dapple grey—he was dark and fiery, bordering on endless blackness. And still going.

**January 5, p.d. Kurt**

Kitty had gone missing yesterday. Kurt had told Mrs. Dillon, who had notified the police, but seeing as there were no reliable tracks to follow, they had to wait 24 hours for the scent hounds to arrive. In the meanwhile, Kurt's bus ride was lonely, and riding Soup wasn't the thrill it used to be.

After riding Soup and Apple, Soup's little girlfriend, Kurt was mucking out the stalls just for lack of something better to do. Yo Mama, the fat old miniature donkey that lived at the barn was standing in Anevern's stall, munching the remnants of his grain out of the bucket. Kurt shooed Yo Mama out and started mucking out the stall, spreading the sawdust and straw evenly, until he stabbed a pillow and neatly folded blanket in the corner, sitting under a thin layer of straw.

"Was ist das?" he muttered, dropping the fork and pawing through the straw, realizing it was a _bed_. Kitty had been _living_ here. As he moved the pillow and blanket, he heard the crinkle of paper and pulled out a slightly crumpled sheet of lined paper.

_Kurt,_ the note started with flowing, slanted cursive. _I know at some point you'll find this, and I want to apologize for the way I will—rather, have acted. I'm writing this sitting in with Anevern, doubtless you've found out where I live now. You probably have so many questions that I'd love to answer, but I can't. I know that I'll be leaving tomorrow, which is earlier than I planned, but . . ._

_I don't know how to write this, but I'll do my best. There's this __**thing**__ that I can't __**escape**__,_Kurt could see that Kitty had pressed hard on the pen, in frustration or anger, maybe even fear. _And it's just __**inescapable**__ and I can't __**get away**__ from it, it's just__**—**_

Kitty had ground the words into the paper, and some of the ink had smeared from tears, and there were long, diagonal gouges through the paper where Kitty had taken out her frustration. Then, at the bottom of the paper, in small, upright print, a smaller message.

_I'll be back around the fifteenth. I went on a trip to visit my family in Massachusetts unexpectedly due to a death in the family. I'm sorry for so many things. –Kitty_

The note that Kitty thought would answer questions left Kurt with more questions than he had originally. As Kurt straightened up, he tucked the note into his pocket and placed the pillow and blanket on one of the tack boxes in the aisle outside the stall. He finished mucking out the stalls and was walking out of the aisle when his sensitive ears caught the sound of tires crunching gravel.

Kurt stood and listened for a moment, then the two trucks came into view, heading towards the barn, and in a flurry, Kurt switched his inducer on and waited. The trucks parked and four men jumped out, coming towards Kurt, who could hear bloodhounds baying in the back of the trucks.

"Hello young man. We're here from the Loudoun County Sherriff's office, responding to a case of missing person that was called in by a Missus Ethel Dillon. Is she around?" the first man asked, coming up to Kurt.

"Ja, Mrs. Dillon's up at ze house, but she told me to help you ven you came. I'm Kurt Wagner, I vork here afterschool. I vas a friend of Keety—ze girl who vent missing." Kurt said, shading his eyes against the sun to get a better look at the man.

"Nice to meet you, Kurt. I'm Jack Granger, this is Stewart Muthy, Oswald Pollard, and Kevin Statchen. Is there anything we could show the hounds to pick up the scent? Preferably an item of clothing or something she would've come in contact with a lot? And what is her full name?" Jack Granger questioned.

"Her name's Keety Pryde . . . and I zink zere might be a blanket around here zat she slept viz last night . . ." Kurt turned and walked down the aisle, pretending to actually look, then triumphantly returning to the men with the blanket.

"Good job. Os, Kevin, get the hounds. Kitty couldn't have gotten far, it's only been a day. Possibly five miles. Less than ten. She's unarmed on foot, yes?" Granger turned and asked Kurt again, taking the blanket from his hands.

"Uh, no," Kurt started slowly.

"_No_?" Granger echoed.

"She ran avay on her horse Anevern, and she has a svord as vell as a hatchet. Anevern's a haff Zouroughbred, haff draft, so he can run very fast for long. I'm zinking over zventy, definitely, and under seventy." Kurt appraised, doing the math quickly in his head. A horse like Anevern could canter at about twenty miles an hour for half an hour or more at a time, and his trot wasn't slow either. And if Kitty was galloping, she was pushing forty plus.

Granger's eyebrows raised. "Where would she be going?"

"I don't know. She came out of ze barn yesterday all dressed up viz zis old tack on, and I asked her _vone _qvestion and she snapped at me and galloped off zat vay, jumping ze fences. Kurt walked around to the path Kitty had taken and showed Granger the four-board fence Kitty had cleared at a trot. There were still marks in the gravel from takeoff and divets in the turf from Anevern's acceleration.

As Os and Kevin returned with two hounds each, Stewart Muthy took one and held the blanket for the hounds to sniff, then Granger stopped him and relayed what Kurt had told him to his team.

"One suspect, mounted on horseback, armed with sword and hatchet, estimated range: forty to seventy miles any direction from the edge of the property."

"Should I radio for backup?" Muthy asked.

"Yes," Granger said.

"_Even backup von't save you from her_," Kurt muttered so low none of the men could hear him. The hounds pricked their ears, and suddenly looked afraid—very afraid.

**January 5, p.d. Kitty**

Kitty had slowed Anevern for the night, but it was getting closer every second. The horse could've kept going forever, at Kitty's command. Kitty's mind was getting hazy, and she started to feel the distinction between real life and memory blur. Suddenly, she coughed, and Anevern flattened his ears. This was going to be a bad year.

**January 11, 1560**

The road Kythera had galloped was closed so the bobbies could try to figure out what happened. They found the body of the stallion, Anevern, shot at the crossroads, and forty feet away they found the broken body of Kythera at the bottom of the embankment, stab mark through her left breast, through her heart. There wasn't anything they could do. Every time they tried to get near the bodies of the horse or rider, they suddenly remembered better cases to investigate, and hurried off.

The bodies of Kythera Wylde and Anevern lay untouched by human hands and the ravages of time.

**January 15, 1560**

One man alone knew what had happened. He came as soon as he could, and arrived five days after the death of his friend. He made sure he took Toppelston Road, and found the stallion quickly. Dismounting, he left his horse and ran to the stallion, kneeling by its head. Anevern had been shot in the shoulder, right through the heart. The fur on his shoulder had been burned away unnaturally, and as he reached out to touch it, there was an angry snort.

He looked up and saw the gleaming eye of Anevern level with his own.

"_Glad to have you back, Freund_."

**January 10, p.d. Kitty**

Kitty found herself nervous, drifting in and out of memory and consciousness, coughing hard. This year was definitely the worst. As Anevern cantered along the roads, she recalled the other years. She didn't remember the years by their actual dates, she remembered them by their events. The Year of the 40 Ton Truck, The Year of the Poacher, The Year of the Bear Trap and The Year of the Forest Fire were some of the most memorable. What would this year be?

As the hour of midnight came, Kitty fainted in the saddle. Anevern spooked at a deer. He tried to jump a barbed wire fence higher than any others. He fell. Kitty woke as she fell. Her shriek cut off, echoing around the woods.

**January 15, 1560**

The man, leading Anevern and his horse, approached the embankment. He left the horses at the top and stumbled down the scree slope to Kythera. He knelt by her side, too, and lifted her head into his lap. He smoothed her bangs out of her face as her eyes flickered open. She gave a small gasp of surprise.

"_Wh-where am I?"_ She murmured, pulling herself up into a sitting position using the man's arm.

"_Exactly vere you vere five days ago, Freulein."_ the man said softly. Kythera suddenly clutched her heart and pitched forward, groaning in agony.

"_How'd this happen?" _she panted, after the pain had passed.

"_Don't you remember?"_he asked. Kythera shook her head. Suddenly, he pulled her close and pressed his lips to hers.

"_Better now, Kätzchen?"_

"_Much better, Kurt."_

_**Ooh, just how evil am I? Plot twist! I realized somewhere in the middle of this chap that if I continued on the plan of action I had set, this story would end at only FOUR chapters. Unheard of! So I twisted the plot beyond recognition so I may continue it another two or so chapters. Reviews needed if you want to see how this ends!**_


	5. Kurt's Plan

**Inspiration drives minds, but what drives inspiration? Love.**

**January 17, p.d.**

A week after Kitty had disappeared, under the cover of darkness she trotted Anevern up the road, walking him up the driveway silently, bringing him up to the barn and untacking him quickly. She was in the back room, taking her ceremonial garb off and surveying the damage this year had done to her body. There were scars all over her torso and legs, where she'd been crushed against rocks under Anevern's body, but those wouldn't've killed her. Picking up the small mirror in her trunk, she saw the scar that would've killed her. Pale and shining on her right temple, that was where the rock had gone through her head. That was the fatal one.

Putting on her pajamas, she crept out to Anevern's stall and checked him for scars with a flashlight. His left front leg had broken, but that didn't kill him, and there were scars from barbed wire on his hind legs, but . . . there it was. A small scar, no bigger than Kitty's fatal one, was on his chest, a resolute stick or something that had driven up into his chest and undoubtedly hit his heart. Kitty gave her boy a quick pat and then realized her blankets had been cleared out of the stall, so she crept out into the aisle and found some not-too-dirty saddlepads to use.

**January 17, 1560**

Kurt had carried Kythera, bridal-style, up the perilous slope to the horses, which were standing placidly. He propped her in the saddle and handed her the reins, hands lingering on hers for a moment. Quickly, he vaulted up onto his horse's back and turned, Anevern following as they trotted back up the road, quietly entering the town of Dawsonbrooke unnoticed. Kurt was the town farrier and had a smithy on the edge of town, and that's where he took Kythera.

He stabled their horses and led Kitty into the kitchen of the living quarters at the smithy and sat her down on a stool.

"Vhat happened?" he asked, half out of curiosity, half out of sternness.

Kythera shook her head and opened her mouth, then closed it again, then spoke. "I really . . . I-I _robbed_ people . . . killed a man . . ." she groaned and clutched her heart again. "The Devil . . . I gave myself to the Devil . . . that's why I'm here . . ."

Kurt sat back on his stool and surveyed Kythera, tiredly sighing. "So vhat do you vont to do now? You could pretend to be dead, or you could go back to your _husband_."

Kythera looked scared at the prospect of going back to Lord Wylde. She'd been having an affair with Kurt for a little over a year now, and it was a small miracle nobody'd found them out. "Anything but go back to Wylde." She said quietly.

"Alright. You know vhere ze bedroom is, I'll be up in a few moments. Got to see to ze horses." Kurt said, standing and helping Kythera up, who disappeared up a spiral staircase to the bedroom. Kurt traipsed out to the stabling part of the smithy and looked over the horses quickly, sighing in exasperation as he put his forehead against the cool, damp wood. "Vot did you get yourself into, Kätzchen?"

**January 18, p.d.**

It was Saturday, and as on every Saturday, Kurt came out to the barn, but as he walked towards the big green building, something was different. He stopped and looked around a moment, then continued on, head down, and collided with Kitty, carrying a saddle around to the tack room.

"_Kätzchen!"_ Kurt cried.

"_Kurt!" _Kitty yelped, pinned under Kurt and a saddle.

"Mein Gott, you're alive! Ve zought you vere dead!" Kurt said.

"No, I'm here." Kitty said, starting to blush at the awkwardness of the situation. "Do you mind . . . ?"

"Oh!" Kurt leapt up and helped Kitty up. "Vait—vot's zat?" Kurt asked, brushing Kitty's bangs aside. There was a shining scar on her temple.

"Nothing." Kitty said hurriedly and tried to push past Kurt, but he held her back gently, head cocked at the strangeness of her behavior.

"No, no, it's somezing alright if you're acting like zat. Vot is it?" Kurt said, half curiously, half sternly.

Kitty seemed to freeze up. "It's an old scar I got as a kid—I tripped and fell on a rock and hit my head."

Kurt looked dubious, but let her go. "O-o-okay, zen." Kitty disappeared around the side of the barn and Kurt wondered why she would act that strangely. He shrugged to himself and continued into the barn, greeting the horses as he walked past, then saw a new horse's, midnight-black head sticking out of the end stall.

"Oh, hello zere." Kurt said amiably, going towards the horse, who pinned its ears and glared at Kurt. Slowly, it dawned on him. "_Anevern?"_

Shaking his head, Kurt realized something here was _not right_. And he vowed to get to the bottom of it.

XXX

Winter turned to spring, and spring gave way to summer. It was early in the afternoon, around two, when the sun's the hottest and it's unbearable to ride. All the barn kids, Kurt and Kitty included, had retreated to the house and were changing into their bathing suits, readying for a jump in the pool. Kurt had changed in the bathroom, and, without thinking, walked out into the bedroom where Kitty was changing. He was two steps into the room when he realized Kitty was standing frozen like a deer in the headlights in front of him, with only the bottom half of her bikini on.

"Oh holy—" Kitty cursed colorfully, diving behind a bookshelf and using a towel to cover herself. "_Kurt!"_ she shrieked. Kurt high-tailed it out of there, down to the pool, still in shock from what he'd seen. For one: Kitty was _damn_ sexy. For two: what was with that weird scar-motif thing? She had scars all over her body, old-looking, except for new-looking one that he couldn't _help_ but notice on her *ahem* _chest_. Come on, he _was_ a guy after all, no matter how he looked.

A few minutes later, Kitty came down to the pool and Kurt chastely avoided looking at her altogether, staying at the opposite end of the pool as the littler kids splashed and had best-dives and biggest-splash competitions off the diving board. Once, Kurt looked up and caught Kitty's eye, promptly turning a nice shade of purple and looking away quickly. God, this was going to be awkward.

After they'd dried off and changed back into T-shirts, jeans, and boots, Kitty confronted Kurt. She was bent over double, towel-drying her hair when Kurt walked in to grab his chaps that he'd left in the bathroom. As he was coming back out, Kitty stood up.

"Kurt. We need to talk." She said. Kurt swallowed.

"Honest, I'm not a peeping Tom! I didn't know you vere still changing, I—" Kurt started apologizing profusely.

"It's not about that. Just to let you know, I don't cut myself or anything. I'm just rather accident-prone. Back in January I fell off a horse and onto some rocks, that's all." Kitty said, and walked out without waiting for Kurt's reply.

Kurt was left standing there, mouth working soundlessly like a fish. Then he groaned and ran after Kitty, however, his mom was pulling up the drive. Damn. He wouldn't get to ask her. Or wait . . . maybe his mother could give him some insight into the situation.

XXX

Later that night, over dinner, Kurt asked his parents something.

"Am I ze first vone in ze family to look like zis?"

His father and mother exchanged a glance. "Actually, nein, Kurt . . . you had a great-great-great . . . vell, about _sechszehn_ greats, but he looked like you. Razzer, you looked like him." His mother said finally.

"Really?" Kurt asked. He'd been half expecting that answer, but it still shocked him.

"Ja. Vy do you ask?" his mother asked.

"Just vondering. And . . . uh, vere do ve come from? Like, vere's our ancestral home?" Kurt asked.

"I didn't know you vere zat interested in our genealogy, Kurt. Your fazzer's side of ze family comes from souzern England in ze more recent history, zough his line is originally from Bavaria. My side of ze family is from München." His mother answered.

"You want to know this _why_?" his father asked, not rudely.

"Ve're doing a family tree project in history." Kurt said, lying smoothly.

"Okay then." His father went back to his food.

_Now _this_ is interesting_. Kurt thought to himself.

XXX

**June 20, 1560**

Two months prior, the Lord Wylde had a tragic riding accident and fell from his favored mount while out riding and died upon falling onto a stick, which pierced his heart. His horse ran back into town riderless, and a search party went out and found the lord dead. The funeral was large and conspicuous, with many people in attendance, except the farrier, who claimed he was ill that day and could not attend.

Though in the month of June, on a fair day, Kurt Wagner the farrier and a pretty woman from the next town over named Katherine Pryde, sister of the late Kythera Wylde, were wedded. There were only six people there, including the bride, groom, and minister.

Later that day, a hugely smiling Kurt carried a giggling "Katherine" through the door of the smithy and kissed her. Then he set her down and took his cloak off, spaded tail swishing around his ankles.

"Kythera—" he started to say.

"Please, call me Kitty . . . Kythera's the name of the Devil." She murmured in his ear and danced away, giggling as she ran up the spiral stairs before Kurt could grab her. He smiled and chased her, laughing as he pounced on her and pinned her against the bed, kissing her full on the lips again.

"_Kätzchen_," he breathed in her ear. "What a lovely name."

XXX

**June 21, p.d.**

"Kätzchen!" Kurt called, running ahead to catch up with Kitty, who was going to catch a pony. She whirled around on him.

"_What_ did you just call me?" she asked, half shocked, half angry. Kurt stopped dead in his tracks.

"Kätzchen. Is zere somezing wrong viz zat?" he asked hesitantly. Kitty's eyes bored into his own.

"Don't call me that." She said softly, almost sadly, then swung through the fence and marched off towards the little herd of ponies at the water trough.

Kurt was left thoroughly confused, all thought of confronting Kitty fled his head. He caught his pony, tacked him, muttering to himself absently. He rode quickly, remembering to use his image inducer in case the herd of lesson kids showed up while he was still around. Kitty rode, as normal, cleaned her horse and tack, and disappeared for the rest of the day with Anevern. Kurt thought it incredibly odd that the "gelding" had been dappled grey last year, but was inexplicably black now. He had been pure, jet black in winter, though his belly and face were fading to a dark grey rapidly, as if he was aging on a sped-up timescale.

Kitty had scars all over, disappeared for weeks on end mysteriously, was touchy about the subject of Kythera Wylde, and hated being called "Kätzchen" because it made her . . . sad? This wasn't normal, by anyone's standards. Kurt knew that last time Kitty and Anevern disappeared, he'd have to follow them, for real.

That night, at home, Kurt laid out a big sheet of paper and made a chart and timeline, adding up all the facts to figure out when the two would next leave. Kitty had left in the middle of winter, when Anevern was a striking dapple grey. Kurt had already figured out that Anevern was a stallion, not a gelding, and that was odd, because hardly anyone had stallions as pleasure horses, especially not people as small and slight as Kitty. She was a _lot_ stronger than she let on, obviously.

From all this and more, Kurt extrapolated that Kitty and Anevern would depart in late December. He started to think of excuses to get away from his parents for a couple weeks to pursue the two. Finally he settled on an Outdoor Education field trip, marking it on the calendar as "tentative" and going so far as to procure an old field trip form and an administrative leave form for authenticity. Now it was time to observe and wait.


	6. End of the Nightmare

**Yay! This is the last chapter! Finally! Everything will be explained and for those of you who hung on this long, I congratulate you all.**

**December 14, p.d.**

Kurt had gone out to the barn every day, watching and waiting for Kitty and Anevern's flight. Due to all the snow days the school system had had lately, Kurt's permission forms were obsolete, the now Boy Scouts camping trip on the calendar was all he needed. Getting a horse was harder, but not impossible. Kurt had taken Archie, an experienced half-draft hunter roughly the size of Anevern and outfitted him with his hunting tack and things to survive for a week or so in the winter. Tricky, but he was mentally thanking his Outdoor Education teacher.

December 15 dawned as a crisp Saturday morning, perfect for riding. Kitty woke early and tacked Anevern, confident that nobody knew. Her heart was pounding, galloping towards its last few beats of the year. Kurt had slept the night in Archie's stall, and was roused when he heard Anevern being led down the aisle. Ever so quietly, he tacked Archie and waited until Kitty was out of earshot to mount up and move out.

She was dressed in that amazing old hunting tack again, looking a pretty picture mounted on Anevern, fully dappled, as he raised his head and pricked his long ears at a sound in the distance. They set off down the drive and wandered down the road at a walk, Kurt and Archie following a good distance behind. Kurt's heart was pounding with adrenaline, as he had no idea what laid ahead, and he loved a good adventure.

Up ahead, Kitty and Anevern broke a trot. Kurt rose to Archie's trot as he struggled to keep his tail in check, flicking over Archie's flanks. _Let the hunt begin!_

**December 16, p.d.**

Kurt had lost Kitty. Three hours ago. On a back country road. Night was falling. He dismounted and hunkered down on the side of the road where he'd lost Kitty. With any luck, she'd be going in a circle, as she'd been doing for the past day. He turned his head to the sound of hooves pounding an icy road. Far down the road, Anevern was coming at a full gallop. Kurt's eyes grew wide and he swung up onto Archie's back, ready for a chase. Anevern's coat was darkening as night fell, dapples fading into a shining jet black coat.

Kitty looked alive, eyes bright, urging her horse faster and faster until they were flying so fast, Kurt swore not a foot touched the ground. It was magnificent. They looked like a pair of rough-riding demons bent on racing Hell and the Devil himself. Archie rose to the occasion magnificently, racing along behind Anevern with unwavering stamina. Kurt watched for signs of recognition. None came.

Ahead on the road, there were low-hanging branches that were drawing rapidly closer. Anevern flew right under them, and Kurt shouted, "_Duck!_"

Kitty turned in her seat to look with shocked wide eyes at him. A branch hit her upside the head and she went spinning from her seat, Anevern continuing riderless. Kurt desperately tried to pull Archie up, but an object, especially one as large and travelling as fast as Archie, tends to stay in motion. Archie ran right over Kitty's winded form, pursuing Anevern. The horse, stirrups flapping, ran right towards a high stone wall.

He'd never make it, Kurt knew that the second he misplaced a foot on the takeoff. Off balance, he careened over the wall and landed with a heavy thud on the other side. Kurt emergency-dismounted and clambered over the wall to see the stallion lying there with a broken neck and blank black eyes. He steeled himself, going back to Archie, and cantering to where Kitty lay. Blood was pooling around her from a huge gash in her abdomen.

Kurt could see grey, shining coils of her guts through the gash, undoubtedly caused by the spiked cogs on Archie's shoes. Her back seemed to be broken, and her eyes were blank, but she was alive, as her chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow breaths.

"Keety! _Kätzchen!_" Kurt shouted, dismounting and running to her side. Recognition flickered briefly in her eyes.

"Kurt . . . I have something to tell you . . ." Kitty said slowly, weakly, in a strained voice. Kurt nodded fervently, taking one of her hands. "I am Kythera Wylde. . . . I had an affair with Kurt Wagner, the blacksmith, your ancestor . . . and married him after killing my husband, Lord Wylde . . . I die every year with Anevern, whom I stole from Wylde one night . . . and robbed a stagecoach . . . selling my soul to the Devil . . . when I died for the first time, and came back . . . it was amazing . . . but when I found you, I knew my time had come. I'm going to die for real this time . . . and Kurt . . . I'm scared."

Kitty's eyes, filled with pain and fear, broke Kurt's heart. She was his ancestor . . . the great Kythera Wylde, lady of legends, lying broken in his arms . . .

"Don't be scared, Kä . . . Kythera . . . it's fine, dying, it's natural . . . what was dying like before?" Kurt asked softly.

"A relief for the pain . . . it was like falling asleep . . . then when I'd wake up, it was like the yearly nightmare was starting again . . ." Kythera rasped.

"Just fall asleep, Kythera . . . you won't ever have to face the nightmare." Kurt whispered.

"One thing for me?" she questioned so softy, Kurt had to strain to hear.

"Anything," Kurt said.

"Tell me you love me," Kythera breathed, eyes searching Kurt's face. "I'll never see Kurt again . . . for he is in heaven . . . and I will go to Hell . . . . let me die a happy woman . . . before Hell."

"I love you, Kätzchen," Kurt responded. A weak smile appeared on Kythera's face, one of pure joy and relief. Slowly, the pain drained from her features and the light left her eyes. A breeze blew over Kurt, chilling him and bringing his last words to Kythera back to him.

That was it. The nightmare was finally over. Kythera Wylde had died for the last time, 541 years after it had began.

Everything was at peace.

XXX

XXX

XXX

**Love it? Hate it? Drop me a line!**


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